CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (22 page)
BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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“I went to him and told him that we had to get organized, that everyone had to work. And strangely enough, he listened and then did what I said.”
I sat quietly, waiting for Wynn to say something. He said nothing.
I looked up, my lip trembling again. “I’ve been feeling guilty ever since I realized how it must have seemed to him,” I confessed. “By going to him as I did, I as good as claimed to be what he thought me to be—someone with special powers. He never would have listened to an ordinary woman, you know that.”
“And it’s been bothering you?”
“Very much,” I admitted, my voice faltering. “That’s why I’ve been so touchy when anyone teased me about it. You see, I had hoped too that maybe now the villagers and the chief would be open to the salvation message. But I might have spoiled that. By taking the power and authority that didn’t belong to me, I might have ruined any chance for the people to listen.”
“Did you tell the chief you had special power?”
“Of course not!”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I was just a woman—that I came in the name of the true God—that I—” I stopped short, struggling with emotion, and then went on. “But don’t you see? That is what frightens me. I didn’t mean it in that way, but I think the chief misunderstood. He seemed to think of me as ... as some kind of sorceress or something, representing some new god. Oh, Wynn, it was like I was just a—a new witch doctor with another group or something. It frightens me. How can we make him understand the truth when he seems to have it so mixed up? And I’m the one who mixed him up,” I finished lamely.
Wynn passed me his handkerchief and sat quietly for several minutes while I wiped away tears. When he felt I was under control, he spoke again.
“We’ll pray, Elizabeth. You didn’t mean to deceive him. You tried to explain the truth to him. When we speak the truth and someone misunderstands us, I don’t believe God holds us responsible for his misinterpretation. We can’t work within his mind. At least, by appearances, the chief is at a point where he has recognized another power—another god. Now someone—maybe LaMeche—needs to explain to him just who that God is and how one worships Him. You might have opened that door after all.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Involvement
The pastor came to call on us, welcoming us to his church and expressing his desire for us to be an active part of the fellowship.
“It has not been easy,” he stated, “getting enough willing workers to make the church function as it ought.”
“What might we do to help?” asked Wynn on behalf of both of us.
The pastor’s eyes showed surprise. It had been awhile since he had had a volunteer.
He cleared his throat, seeming to find it difficult to know just where to start. “We need Sunday school teachers in the worst way,” he stated. “We have some junior boys, five of them, and no teacher. Right now I fear they will stop coming if something isn’t done. Two of them already have.”
Wynn thought quietly, nodding his head at the pastor’s words.
“We need other teachers in the children’s department as well. There is only one teacher for all of the primaries. She has fourteen, from grades one through four. They’re a real handful. She’s threatening to quit.”
“I would love to teach some of them,” I quickly responded.
“And I would consider that group of boys,” said Wynn.
The pastor’s face relaxed. Then a broad smile began to spread across it.
“My wife will be so relieved,” he said. “She’s the teacher of the primaries now. It has been such a handful for her. She’s not as young as she once was, you know. She raised five of her own, but it’s not as easy for her to handle young ones now as it used to be. ”
There was silence while the pastor wiped his brow.
“I noticed you have a piano,” I said cautiously.
The man smiled. “A piano, yes, but no pianist. It would boost the singing so much if we had someone to play.” Then he grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “As you could undoubtedly tell, I’m not much of a song leader. I’m afraid the Lord neglected to give me that gift.”
He laughed, and I found myself liking the man who tried so hard to do all he could.
I stole a glance at Wynn, wondering just how he would respond to my announcement.
“My husband has a lovely singing voice,” I said, “and he knows almost all of the hymns.”
The preacher looked from me to Wynn. Wynn showed no signs of embarrassment or resentment.
“Would you consider—” The pastor let the words hang.
“If you feel it would be of service, I would try it,” said Wynn, very simply.
“Oh, my, I would appreciate that,” the man said sincerely.
Then Wynn cleared his throat and looked at me with his special grin, “And while we are announcing the talents of one another,” he said, “I might inform you that my wife is a pianist.”
Pastor Kelly looked at me. Now his eyes were very wide. His mouth hung open. He pulled out his handkerchief again, but this time he wiped at the corners of his eyes.
“Would you?” he asked sincerely.
“I would be happy to,” I assured him.
He blew his nose rather loudly, put his handkerchief away and fumbled for words. “You folks can’t appreciate what this means to me—and to Martha. We sort of struggled along here—and it’s been tough going. We served in larger parishes before, but we felt the Lord wanted us to give some of our years of service to a mission. I ... think perhaps we did it backward. We should have spent our years in a mission first and then gone to a larger parish.
“Anyway, it has been hard for us. Especially for Martha. Wait until she hears the news. You see, we’ve been praying for some time now—”
He stopped and cleared his throat. Then he looked up with glistening eyes. “Well,” he said, “one should not be so surprised when God answers. Just thankful. Just thankful.”
My own eyes felt a little misty, so I decided it was time to serve the tea and cake.
After the good parson had left us, Wynn and I reviewed our commitments of the past hour. It would be so good to be involved in the life of the church again, we both decided. We had missed it.
“I need to go over to the church and get in a little practice on that piano,” I said. “It has been so long since I have played that I’m sure I’m quite rusty.”
“Bring a hymnbook home with you if you can,” Wynn said, “and we’ll pick out the Sunday hymns together.”
“I’m going to love teaching children again,” I mused, thinking about the small minds and their interest in the Bible stories. It had been several years since I’d had the privilege.
Wynn just smiled. “Well, since you’re so enthusiastic, I might give you my junior boys and I’ll take your little people,” he said laughingly. “Do you know what junior boys can be like?”
“I do. And I’m sure you will make out just fine.”
“You heard the pastor. Some of them have already dropped out. I’m guessing the rest of them are looking for an excuse too.”
“Don’t forget,” I reminded Wynn. “They have never had a man for a teacher. I’m sure you’ll win them over in no time—just wait and see.”
“I hope you’re right, Elizabeth, but I wouldn’t count on junior boys being quickly ‘won over’ by anyone.”
I patted Wynn’s shoulder. “Just wait,” I said with total confidence. “You’ll see.”
The truth was I could hardly wait to start teaching, and deep down under his banter, I was sure Wynn felt the same way.
I had a caller the next morning. When I answered the door, a small, carefully dressed lady stood on the step. I smiled a welcome and opened the door.
“Mrs. Delaney,” she said, “I do hope this isn’t an imposition. I’m Martha Kelly and I wanted to bring the Sunday school material for you and your husband.”
“Oh, yes. It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Kelly,” I said, extending my hand. “Please come in.”
I led Mrs. Kelly to our small but cozy sitting room and took her coat. She retrieved the bundle she had brought with her and lifted out a small package.
“I brought you a bit of baking,” she said rather shyly, “as a welcome to our church and little town.”
It had been so long since anyone had welcomed me in such a way. I was delighted. I expressed my thanks to Mrs. Kelly and excused myself to put on the teakettle.
She showed me the Sunday school material and explained how the classes would be divided and where my room would be found and then we chatted about other things.
She was a delightful lady! It would be so nice to have a friend—a warm and understanding friend.
I went to the church the next day to practice the piano. I knew I would be rusty and fumbling. The first few tries were frustrating, but I was surprised at how quickly it all came back to me. Soon I was enjoying the sound of the hymns of praise.
The piano was understandably out of tune, but it was not horribly so. I decided that Wynn would have no problem leading the singing to its accompaniment.
The pastor came out of his study just as I was about to leave the church. I apologized for disturbing him. I realized, too late, that I should have checked before I began to play.
“It was not a disturbance,” he assured me. “It was a ministry. I needed that music to lift my soul. I am sure my Sunday sermon will be the better for it.”
I asked about taking home a hymnal for Wynn and me to pick the hymns. He assured me I was most welcome.
I asked for the theme of his Sunday sermon, and he said he planned to speak on the surety of God’s promises. I could hardly wait for Sunday.
I was beginning to settle into our new little community. After I had done all of my sewing and arranged our small house, I could not find enough to do to fill my days. The hours until Wynn came home often weighed on me. I was sure there were things I could be doing to serve this small community if I could just discover what they were.
I still had not become very acquainted with neighbors. In fact, where our house stood we had few neighbors. To our right was a large vacant lot and beyond it was the property belonging to the North West Mounted Police. Their small office was located there as well as storage sheds, wagon yards and barns.
Wynn was so close that he could come home for his noon meal, which helped to fill my day. It was a great pleasure for me to be able to see so much of my husband after his being gone all day and sometimes many days at a time.
Wynn settled into the routine of office work. I knew it was a very different life than he was used to, and I am sure he sometimes chafed under the load of paper work, but he did not complain. He seemed to like the two young men who served under him, and that certainly helped his circumstances.
The two-month sentence of the young brave from the village expired and Wynn had his horse, which also had been kept in custody, brought to him. Wynn also saw to it that he had provisions for the long ride home. I sent a letter for LaMeche to read to Silver Star. Then Wynn escorted the boy a day’s ride out of town to make sure he wouldn’t come into possession of illegal whiskey again; and bidding him goodbye and a safe journey, he sent him on his way.
When I asked Wynn if he felt the young man had learned a lesson, he smiled.
“I think he has learned several lessons, Elizabeth,” he said: “how to play blackjack, how to chew tobacco, how to curse in English, and who knows what else.”
I cringed at Wynn’s words. Though he spoke partly in jest, I knew there was truth in it.
As for me, I was getting acquainted with the shopkeepers in the town, though I still knew few of them by name. Most of the shopkeepers were men, but there was a woman working in the drygoods store and one in the bakeshop.
Our home was small but adequate, our town was scattered but interesting, our church was struggling but growing, and though we both missed our life with the Indian people, we settled in to enjoy this one winter set apart.
We talked about and prayed often for the village we had left in the fall. We hoped with all our heart that the building was going well, that the young Mountie was able to care for the needs of the people, and that the Force would see fit to return us to the posting in the spring. We also prayed that the gospel witness in that town would take root and grow.
Mail from the South arrived. Wynn brought the letters home to me when he came for lunch one day. There were four of them: one from Mary, one from Julie, one from my mother, and one from Mother Delaney.
There was both good news and bad news. The war was finally over and Matthew had returned home safely. I thanked God fervently. Matthew was now busy learning the business to take over from Father.
Julie’s baby boy had arrived. He had been a healthy baby until he was five months old, at which time he had contracted measles with complications and he had gone home to God. Julie had been heartbroken, but God had been with her and her husband. They were now expecting a second child.
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